Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Meyers!”
“Fine! It’s…um…Britney.”
“What?” He bolted into the bathroom and several things clattered to the floor. “Fuck!”
“It’s not that bad, Barrett. Maybe you can cover it up with something less…Y2K.”
“It’s a fucking tramp stamp!” He stumbled out of the bathroom, a look of sheer horror on his face. It would be a long time before he saw the humor of the situation. “My career’s over.”
“No, it’s not. Models have tattoos. That’s what airbrushing is for.”
“I have the words hit me, baby, one more time permanently inked above my asshole!”
I smothered my laughter out of respect. There was definitely a prison joke in this mess, but the murderous look in his eye warned me to save it for later.
“This is all your fault!”
“My fault?” My memories were still too fuzzy to know if that was true. I might have encouraged him, but a tattoo would have ultimately been his choice. “You can’t blame this on me!”
He gripped his head. “What the hell were we drinking last night?”
“I’m guessing turpentine.”
“We have to retrace our steps.” He finally stepped into his rumpled pants but winced when the leather of his belt bumped Britney’s chin. “Ouch. Damn it. Were we around birds?”
“Birds?”
“I don’t know. I remember…birds.”
This was categorically the worst hangover in the history of humankind.
“Look, I’d love to Scooby-Doo our way through this mystery with you, but Hale is probably passing his keys off to the valet at this very moment. I don’t have the strength—or the answers—to explain any of this right now. My head’s killing me. My feet feel like someone tried to burn me at the stake. And my future’s in massive danger if I don’t get you out of here before your brother arrives. Do you want to start World War III with this degree of a hangover?”
A jagged breath skipped past his lips as he massaged his face. “It feels like my ears are literally bleeding.”
The sense of uncertainty was making me physically ill. “Barrett, nothing happened last night, right?”
He scowled at me. “Like you even have to ask. He’s my brother, Rayne.”
“I know! I know. And I’d never cheat on him, but… How do we explain this?” I waved a hand at the rumpled bed and destroyed hotel room. Hale could not find us like this.
It didn’t matter that Barrett was his brother. Remington was his father, and he’d slept with Hale’s last girlfriend right under his nose. It was no wonder Hale had trust issues.
Barrett waved away my concern. “You need to have more faith in him. Hale’s a big boy—” He froze. “Meyers…don’t move.”
I stilled. “What’s wrong?”
Speaking slowly and quietly, he splayed his fingers and held up his hands in a calming gesture that only terrified me. “There’s a huge fucking spider on your neck.”
I screamed and went into a full-scale, spastic attack to remove any trespassing creatures from my body. My hands scoured my throat, swiping the small, furry fucker away.
It clung to my finger, so I rapidly ran in place, flinging my hands hysterically while squealing nonsense words. “Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!”
It landed on the bed and I shuddered, caterwauling as if I’d just been molested by a ghost.
“Oh.” Barrett leaned forward and lifted the spider. “It’s just a fake eyelash.”
Depleted, I collapsed into the chair and caught my breath. “How is this my life?”
“Oh, please.” He shoved his arms into a T-shirt that was several sizes too small. “At least you don’t have permanent scarring. You’re a few aspirins and a sports drink away from returning to your normal self. I, on the other hand, have been branded for fucking life.”
I groaned, pressing my face into my palms. My skull had a literal heartbeat that throbbed like the impending theme of Jaws.
Barrett blew out a breath and leaned into the wall. “My bones feel like they’re trying to escape.”
I peeked through my fingers. “What the hell are you wearing?”
He pressed his chin to his chest and frowned. The shirt, clearly a girl’s medium, had a flamboyant baby unicorn dancing in a tutu across a rainbow. Overhead, it read, I’m Fucking Fabulous!
“What the fucking fuck?”
“Can I please have that when you find your real clothes?”
He jerked the sheets off the bed and searched the room. “Where the hell’s my shirt?”
“I dunno. Wanna wear this one?” His was way better.
He glanced at my muggle shirt and growled. Then he dropped to the edge of the bed. “My head is killing me.”
“Mine too.” I massaged my temples.
His fingers forked through his hair and stilled. “No.” His hand cupped the back of his head, traveling up and down, pulling his messy hair. “No.” He growled, “What the fuck did you do?”
My head shook. His hair appeared several inches shorter than it had been last night. “I didn’t—”
“Where’s my fucking hair, Rayne?” He sprang to his feet and started ransacking the suite.